#MSCSoutheastCares: The Movement

Friday, December 20th marked four months since I made the move to Minnesota State College Southeast. Back in my first couple of weeks, I wrote about my excitement at finding a deep culture of caring on campus (read here), and I promised to tell the honest and authentic story of our growth. There were many reasons I was drawn to this unique college in the southeastern corner of Minnesota, but the primary one was a palpable sense of mission from the first day I explored campus. The college culture reminded me of the students I think we are here to serve: determined, optimistic, resilient, and maybe just a little under-resourced:). Although I'd been successful engaging people in pursuing poverty-informed solutions before, I knew a vice president received different opportunities to spread that message. So, I made a leap of faith and hoped I'd found a group of people to try to change the world with. Today I'd like to share some stories of the movement taking hold on our campus and the amazing people making it happen.

One of the pleasant surprises upon arriving at campus was finding the phrase "build a poverty-informed infrastructure" in our strategic plan. This had already led to the creation of student-led food pantries on both campuses as well as a committment to make public transportation free for students. So, I started with the first thing I could think of, my old friend "The Bowl." The big blue party bowl came with me from my last college, and I took it to our Learning Resource Center in Red Wing and asked the coordinator if I could put out some snacks for whoever wanted them. She immediately said yes, and we started with the granola bars pictured. Within days, others were diversifying to fruit, gluten free

snacks, and a variety of other items. I'm only able to be in Red Wing a couple of days a week, but the bowl has not been empty since I put it out. Our Winona Campus ran with the idea as well. I didn't have a lovely bowl for them, but they use the very nice baskets pictured here. Again, I do some personal shopping every week, but what goes in the bowl/basket goes way beyond what I provide. Grab and go food is a powerful place to begin in creating a poverty-informed culture.


Speaking of food, as I mentioned earlier, both our campuses have student-run pantries to battle food insecurity. It was wonderful to get to campus and see students (and staff) making time to care for each other, but it got even better. In speaking with our Winona Senate President the first week on campus, he told me our construction program was partnering with our machining program to upgrade their pantry. The solitary shelf pictured here was what they were using to start, but he wanted something that felt better and more respectful. I also love how he always refers to students "shopping" at the pantry and provides bags from a local grocery store to do so. The new and improved pantry is pictured right below the original one. They were still stocking it when I took the photo. It's pretty fantastic. The foundation of our poverty-informed triangle is meeting basic needs, and our efforts around food and transportation are a strong start to the movement I hope we are building.

One of the strongest signs of our movement is the grassroots nature it is taking on. When you combine a shared mission with a deep culture of caring amazing things start to happen. If you season those things with a dash of autonomy, you get events like our financial check-in a couple of weeks ago. This originated with a simple problem solving mentality from our excellent student services staff. They knew we had a large number of students with a variety of financial holds preventing them for registering for spring term. They also knew that historically we hadn't done much other than send students an email to notify them of their status. So our staff decided to be more proactive. They created the poster pictured to the left. I love this poster so much! Look at how they phrased things, it's an invitation, not a warning. I think there is a huge difference between being "welcome" on campus and being "wanted" and this poster says the people we are serving are wanted. Several students came in for the face to face event, and several more reached out by email. Our staff were able to solve a remarkable number of issues and keep students in school. Think about the poverty-informed message this event sent. Rather than making our college a place you are in trouble with, the staff made it a place of help, of caring. That is powerful stuff.

So our movement has begun and #MSCSoutheastCares isn't just words, it is

actions. #MSCSoutheastCares is staff on both campuses creating a Saturday study time in the Learning Resource Center before finals. #MSCSoutheastCares is creating a new emergency fund for students and raising nearly $5000 in less than a month just from internal donations. #MSCSoutheastCares is having a better than 80% participation in our internal fundraising campaign for the MSC Southeast Foundation. But more than anything, #MSCSoutheastCares is a poverty-informed way of changing economic reality for students, families, communities, and the 7 Rivers region. It has been a remarkable first semester, and we are just getting started!

A Leader Informed by Poverty

I've been writing for some time about the necessity of realizing our students bring the entirety of their lives to our doorstep, and it matters. We do not serve people in isolation, we serve complex individuals with rich full lives. As the world has shifted to requiring post-secondary education for all, it has challenged those of us in post-secondary education to think differently about how we serve these students. I've written about this issue before (The Poverty Informed Triangle), but today I'd like to look at another issue. Specifically, I'd like to talk about what it means to lead when you are someone with lived experience in poverty. Just like our students come to us with a different context and world view, I think the same is true for our staff with lived experience. And just like our students who sometimes feel mismatched with our schools' polices and procedures, I think the same thing happens to those of us who work at the colleges. So, I'm going to deviate this week and talk about something from a completely personal perspective. Although I often use my experience as an example, this is different because I just want to tell you my experience. I don't know if others share it, but my gut says they do.

Let's start by being honest. The type of poverty I experienced growing up and later in my 20's would be considered mild by a lot of folks. We always had a roof over our heads, and generally food was in solid supply (with some help). So, this isn't a story about proclaiming my poverty, which ranged somewhere between blue collar poverty and situational. All I'm saying is a persistent sense of having less, and possibly being viewed as being less, has influenced my world view and how I do my work. In fact, it informs everything about me. So, it must mean it impacts me as a leader, and I'm guessing it does for people like me as well. Now I'm Vice President of a college, so my financial difficulty is behind me (I hope, but doubting is an outcome of my history too), but just like the students, it still lives inside me. And as I changed jobs this fall, I started to wonder what it means to lead from this mental and emotional place. I think it has an impact. I think it has strengths and challenges, but I think most of all it means others don't always see me or the situation the way I do. Let me share a couple examples.

Folks in poverty tend to be relationship based and live in a more oral culture. This means we can see connections and we think a lot about people when leading. Middle class people tend to talk more about achievement and goals. I know this is true because I've picked up lots of middle-class norms over the years. A traditional path to leadership often begins with the ability to "get stuff done", which seems very middle class. I've read extensively on leadership, and the literature often discusses the transition from being an outstanding individual performer (read 'get a lot of stuff done') to having to get work done through influencing others and how hard the change can be. What if your skill set ran the opposite way? I can only speak for myself, but it has always been easier for me to influence people's hearts and minds than it has been to accomplish processes and tasks. In fact, I joke about it all the time (for my whole career) because it can make me feel outside the norm and deficient. But I wonder, maybe it's just a reflection of my skill set, and maybe that skill set is less common, but just as important. Am I rationalizing? I don't know. I just know I can often feel like I'm missing skills I'm supposed to have, yet I'm having some success. I often think our students need a sense of belonging to overcome impostor syndrome. I wonder what we do for our leaders with similar backgrounds. If I'm honest, every career transition I've made has had aspects of sheer terror as I work through feelings that pretty soon someone will figure out I don't really know how this works. But after two decades of mostly successful work and advancement, that can't be true, can it? Could it be the skill set my life gave me is enough? It never feels that way, which leads to the next issue.

If you can be bilingual between poverty and middle-class, I come close. However, it leads to my most vulnerable places. If you are always sure at some level you are faking it until you make it, the odds of feeling inadequate and defensive are pretty high. Again, after twenty years in education, I cover pretty well, but I'm sensitive to things others aren't. I remember being at an after work dinner at a fairly upscale place on a business trip a few years ago. I was with a colleague and friend who came from a much more affluent background than I did, although we had the same job and title at that time. And when they served the meal, I reached for the pepper immediately, like always. My friend casually said, "aren't you going to taste the food before you season it?" It was a throwaway line between friends, and I doubt he could sense my reaction. But on the inside, I was in a spiral, and the hamster wheel in my mind was spinning furiously. My lack of class had been exposed. I was being judged. I was outed, and would never fit in. None of those things were true of course, but that's where my mind was. I don't remember the rest of the dinner, but I remember my shame and feeling very angry at my friend and his "pretentiousness." "I'm just as good as you, damn it. In fact, I'm better" was the refrain in my head. It seems kind of crazy as I type it, but it's been years, and I can pull the memory and the feelings up easily. It's one of many times I was pretty sure a small behavior meant I was being judged as inadequate and a fraud. If my experience is not just limited to me, I wonder how many other leaders go there too, and maybe are limited by their response.

So, we often read about the crisis of leadership, and I wonder if it is because we define it on a particular set of norms. Even while I feel like an impostor as I try to figure out structure and process and generate products, I am taking daily time to connect with the people I work with and learn their stories. But my own internalized insecurity tell me this isn't "work." It's wasting time and makes me a procrastinator, at least in my head. Of course, I'm pretty sure everyone else sees it too, but what if there is an alternative version to the story I tell myself. I'm getting to do a fair amount of public speaking in recent years (feel free to invite me to your place of work, it's my favorite thing), and people often approach me to chat when I am done. On rare occasions they want to challenge something I've said or learn more, but fortunately they are usually pretty complimentary. However, without fail, someone will approach me to say they also grew up in tough circumstances, and they have connected with what I have said. It's the best part of those days, but today it is making me wonder if we are missing out on some potentially excellent leaders. The people who approach me usually share with me privately and quietly as if we just joined a club we aren't supposed to tell anyone about. What if, just like I'm asking us to do with students, we approached people with the skill set poverty develops from a strengths-based perspective and made them feel welcome and not like impostors. If we acknowledged and celebrated the rich complexity of our leaders, perhaps we would get better outcomes for the richly complex people we serve.

A Tale of Two Students

This is my son Cameron (it's a couple of years ago, but you get the idea). I asked his permission to use him in my article this week and much to my surprise, he said yes! So, let me tell you about Cameron. I remember going to his 4th grade teacher conference and his teacher telling me "Cameron is a genius you know." It was a very nice thing to say, but to be frank there wasn't much traditional evidence of that. Cam has never liked school very much and has pretty much no interest in homework (perhaps as a result of all the Alfie Kohn books I read while raising him). When I pointed it out to the 4th grade teacher she said, "oh not the kind of genius who does school stuff, but trust me he's a genius." Well my Midwestern modesty says the jury is out on the level of genius, but I can confidently say he has a gift for language, he's a good person, and he still hates playing the school game. He started high school this year, and it has actually gone pretty well. He has teachers he likes for the most part, and his gift for language put him in the freshman honors Humanities course, which is a combination of History and English and team taught. I've worked hard to let go of concern about grades and focus on learning, but Humanities has been the one course where his grades aren't good. It's a twist on the now familiar tale of my son and school; He actually likes this class (that's the twist), but still has no interest in worksheets and things like that which are givens in our school system. This means he has been neglecting to complete a number of assignments, and this in turn has led to some tough conversation with his teachers, and the possibility of being moved to a different track. Now, what does this have to do with poverty informed practice? Let me tell you.

Earlier this week, Cameron's teachers reached out with some concern for his performance and behavior. The teacher who wrote was obviously upset, and to be honest the note wasn't very kind. I was told he could "choose" to "earn" poor grades, but distracting behavior would not be tolerated. It was upsetting, but I'm an educator too, so I took a deep breath and sent an email. The email asked for further examples of their concerns. It also pushed back on some of the comments I thought were unfair and ended with an offer to talk by phone or in person. I got an immediate response and followed up with a relatively pleasant phone call. I was empathetic, but made it clear my son valued the class, and I was more worried about his learning than his GPA. When the teacher expressed concern because Cameron is a "college-bound" student, I shared I worked at a college and he could certainly go there, which I hope he will. It all ended well, and he remains in the class and is committed (he says) to trying to do more of what they want. If I'm honest, it's the type of conversation I've had annually with at least one teacher since my son started school. I don't make apologies for advocating for my son, but I've always had guilt around it because I am so keenly aware of people who don't have advocates like me. I know having college educated parents who feel like they are able to talk with school staff gets him the benefit of the doubt, and no one thinks it's unusual. It's just part of the built-in help middle class kids get, and no one thinks twice about it. The longer I work at this notion of being poverty informed, the more insidious it all seems. I'm afraid our systems (like schools) were built on unfair and inequitable principles to begin with, so they are designed to perpetuate those inequities. And that is only mitigated, if you have someone who can "work" the system, like I and other middle-class parents do for our children.

So, what about people who have all my son's gifts (and more), but don't have me? In my training with Dr. Donna Beegle, she often refers to using your title on behalf of others to navigate the system. I didn't disagree, but it always seemed like a small part of what we could do, but now I feel differently. I think it's actually huge, and if your organization is committing to serving people in poverty better, this is a great low-cost place to begin. There is a gulf of difference between giving people the phone number for a service that can help them and making the call with them. It's not right or just, but it matters a call that starts with "this is Vice President Chad Dull" gets a different response, it's just true. And you don't have to have a big title to make this strategy work. I've seen faculty get individuals into homeless shelters after the initial request was denied. I've seen financial aid staff get parents to share FAFSA information when a student couldn't convince them to. It bothers me how well this works, but it is reality. As I said earlier, the system is built on some faulty foundations, so sometimes we need to subvert the system to make it work for the people we advocate for. And we've been taught this is "cheating" when in fact, it's just another version of what I would do for Cameron, and no one ever questions that.

All of this made me think of another student I spoke with in the last two weeks. I don't have her permission, so I won't use her name. She is an adult who has none of the advantages Cameron has, and I think that makes her behavior suspect in situations no one would blink at for my son. She reached out to me after being removed from one of her courses due to a confrontation with an instructor. This student comes from generational poverty and her vocabulary and behavior do not indicate her intellectual ability (meaning she doesn't do middle class things). She also has a strongly developed sense of what she thinks is fair and what she thinks isn't fair. On this particular day, she believed her instructor was being unfair and would not back down on the topic. The instructor was pulled into an emotional reaction, and unfortunately the exchange ended with the instructor telling the student to "get the F#$% out of my class." I'm pretty connected to this student and started getting messages that night about what had happened. She had decided to drop out of school and had been ordered to stay off campus until the following Monday. And if she didn't tell me, the story ends there. I'm not the hero of the story, but I am someone with perceived power who could make phone calls and emails on her behalf to see what could be done. She could feel assured people would respond to my inquiries and the issue would be resolved. Sadly, she didn't believe her own self-advocacy would yield the same results, and she has a lifetime of evidence to support that belief. I spent 20 minutes on the phone and writing emails to key folks, and in the end, she returned to campus to try to finish the term. My title and status simply helped her navigate a situation like it would have for Cameron.

My heroes at Amarillo College tell us we have to love our students more than we love our policies. I think this is exactly what they are talking about. When people who know middle class norms violate policy, they (or their advocates) know how to negotiate and mitigate the response to those policy issues. But all too often for our students from poverty, it is just a confirmation of their powerlessness and a reminder they weren't supposed to be here in the first place, and therefore the end of the road. So, being poverty-informed changes the behavior of those of us in power in distinct ways. If we embrace this, it would remove the guilt of intervening on behalf of students who have nothing. For those of us who are parents, it would simply be the equivalent of what we would do for our children. I like to say that poverty-informed practice is an intentional choice to love the students we have. We do things differently for people we love, including using any tools in our toolbox to navigate a system which does not serve them. We should be on a dual track of navigating the flawed system and fixing it simultaneously, but in the meantime, I think everyone is entitled to the same privileges the handsome guy at the top of the article gets through an accident of birth.

Start with Strengths

As I've been writing, podcasting, and speaking over the last two years or so, I've made a number of connections across the country. Sometimes they are people I admire, or places that might be good collaborators, or just kindred souls. It's always nice to find like-minded folks, and it doesn't bother me to talk with people who want to challenge my ideas either. But the most meaningful interactions I get the privilege of having are conversations away from the podium. The nature of this work means I share things that are personal, which always feels weird, but inevitably someone will come up to me afterward, and they will share a similar experience. It's almost as if watching me embracing some of my own struggles (which pale compared to many) gives permission to embrace their own struggles and start to see them differently. So many of us have been deeply programmed to believe our struggles are due to our deficits, when in reality they are structural and overcoming them has created a set of strengths others may not even know about. Starting with strengths is a fundamental premise of poverty informed practice, but it's not as easy as it sounds. Let me try to explain.

Because I have chosen to share about my little movement on social media, people reach out to me on those platforms as well. I'd like to share one of the messages I received (with identifying information redacted of course), so you can see a problem you might not have anticipated. The note I received said this: "Chad, Have you heard about or worked on programs that simply prove existing skillsets? As a poverty survivor (former homeless) I find myself looking for certifications and classes that cover skills I have because I can't admit to their origin in a professional setting... Poverty survivors have to keep their street skills secret until an acceptable experience proves those skills exist- like certification. I know I'm not the only one but I never see or hear anything about finding a way to recognize the beneficial skills born out of horrible experiences." I did not have a very satisfying answer for the person who sent me the message, but it has stuck with me since the day I received it. Dr. Donna Beegle talks often about living in a country where we the poor for being poor, and here was a real life example in my inbox. This individual felt s/he had to hide the source of his/her strengths, and find "training" to cover for how s/he had really acquired these tools. That can't be ok.

Think about the opportunities this provides as poverty-informed practitioners. I see two in particular. The first opportunity is for those of us in perceived positions of power to share some of our struggles, especially if and when we received some key help. I think we need to normalize and de-stigmatize help every chance we get. So, for example, I have begun to be much more honest about the situational poverty of my 20's, which I had always blamed myself for. For many years, I would hide from my crooked path through college, and my loan defaults, and other errors which always felt like personal failures. Now, maybe some of this stuff was on me personally, but my shame around it, and the consequences of hiding it were very responsible for not getting the help I needed to get moving. And every time I disclose pieces of it, someone identifies, and I wish I hadn't waited almost 20 years to be brave about sharing it. If I'm honest, my current relative stability makes it easier to talk about it, which also indicates the depth of the shame around these issues.

The second opportunity is the chance to help the people we serve re-frame their struggles as learning and strengths. This is as simple and as complicated as changing intake procedures. In education, we so often start with an analysis of your weaknesses, often with academic testing. Testing is perhaps not a positive historical experience for our students, and then even more unfortunately, we tend to discuss it in a deficit model. This is the issue in well intended developmental education across the country. I know this because I led well intended work like that for many years. But now I see very clearly we were inadvertently telling students we would "fix" them before they started something meaningful. Instead, I would suggest intake start with a simple request "tell me what you have done." This seemingly small change can change everything in my opinion, particularly if we know how to respond. What if when we made this inquiry we listened, took notes, and just seemed interested? What if, even better, we took the opportunity to search for transferable skills in their prior accomplishments? What if, from the minute of arrival, we started talking about possibilities, and showed respect and awe for the skills it takes to survive in the crisis of poverty? Could the discussion change, and could the follow up tests etc. be framed differently then? A poverty informed program must think carefully about who the first point of contact is, and ideally that person(s) would be adept and nimble at translating life skills to college goals. Imagine a student coming in with the accumulated shame and doubt the crisis of poverty creates, and the first conversation they have celebrates the amazing tools they have developed to get to our door.

So often, I feel inadequate in this conversation because figuring out what to actually do is a struggle for me. But I'm committed to the idea, and I'm committed to doing the work through my own strengths. I heard the indefatigable Dr. Sara Goldrick-Rab say at #RealCollege2019 that step one in building the movement is to change the discourse. I think that is where my efforts are focused. One of the strengths I acquired along my journey is the ability to listen, communicate, and change people's minds. I'm so impressed and intimidated by folks who make structural change, and sometimes my own efforts feel too small and too easy. But in the same way I'm asking us to approach our students from a strengths-based perspective, I'm trying to give myself the same grace. While I am committed to a bias for action and for not stopping at navel gazing, I am trying to embrace my own strengths to change the discourse in my sphere of influence. For those of you who might struggle with the same insecurities I do (warning self-disclosure:)), I want to tell you a story. Last June, I was in an important meeting, with important people, and making the case for being both poverty and trauma informed. At the end of the meeting, the most important person in the room turned to me and said "I need to learn more because I don't really understand this 'poverty-informed' thing you are talking about." My heart sank and all my insecurities came back to the surface. I left that meeting, but rather than retreat, I leaned into my strength to change the discourse. And 18 months later, the college I left has the words "poverty-informed" in their strategic plan, my new college has a goal of "poverty-informed" infrastructure, and the hashtag #povertyinformed appears in my social media feeds daily. It took the relative safety of my middle-aged, middle-class privilege to make that happen. Let's not make others wait. What if we celebrated the strengths of the people we serve from the moment they arrive? What could we unleash with the simple change to starting with strengths?

A Sense of Belonging

One of the challenging things about leadership is it is not a "do it by yourself" thing. Most of us who end up in positions with some influence made our way there in part because at some point in our career we were good at accomplishing tasks and projects. However, when we are asked to lead others, accomplishing tasks on our own isn't the appropriate skill set in many ways. So you have to develop a new skill set, one that allows you to help other people understand what you are trying to do, and then embrace and execute it. It's a very difficult change, and I think it helps explain why so many of us struggle when we get into a leadership role. The tools in our tool box which worked so well no longer serve us. It can be very disconcerting, and on our worst days make us want to walk away from what we are doing and retreat to what we know. If this sounds personal, well sure it is. Every career transition I've made has involved some level of dealing with this incongruity, and I think it's complicated for people like me who felt like outsiders early on and always will. Now I'm not sharing this to have you feel sorry for me and my career (I'm just fine), but to hopefully draw the parallel to the students and individuals we serve. Students in the crisis of poverty have an extensive set of tools they use to cross our threshold, but those tools don't always work in our colleges. So what do we do?

As I've tried to boil down this idea of poverty informed practice to something other folks can embrace and execute, three elements keep repeating: meeting basic needs, creating a sense of belonging, and accelerating progress toward stability. I would never rank them because I think they all are interdependent, but today I'd like to talk about the importance of a sense of belonging. I would argue one of the consequences of pursuing college from the crisis of poverty is a feeling of not quite fitting in anywhere. On a personal level, this makes sense to me. It's been a long time since my family or I struggled financially (and our struggles were far less than many), but if I'm honest, the residue of feelings from those days persist until now. Every time I share these feelings with students or colleagues who are or have been in the crisis of poverty, they can identify. This happens almost without exception. Think about that. It means students come to us with a belief the people around them don't really want them there. Our students are pretty sure they are impostors, and all too often we inadvertently confirm those feelings. So how do we help them know they do belong?

September 24th was our first Student Success day at Minnesota State College Southeast. I was a latecomer to the project as it had been initiated by my predecessor, and our Student Services team took the lead in planning it. My role was limited to support, encouragement, and participation. None of us were sure how it would go, but I'm pleased to say it was a hit at both campuses. Essentially we shut down classes for a day and faculty, staff, and external partners created workshop opportunities for students. Our student clubs and leadership groups also provided learning opportunities (on things like food insecurity!), and the afternoon was reserved for connecting with advising. The sessions offered were wildly eclectic, which reflected the grassroots nature of this day. There was financial aid and scholarship presentations, but we also had things like horses on campus to demonstrate equine massage. There were sessions on managing stress as a student and there were sessions on tuning pan drums (Did I mention we have really unique and cool music programs at MSC Southeast:)). There were lots of other sessions and activities and as a relative newcomer, I was able to see a thread that pulled it all together. My friend and mentor Dr. Donna Beegle talks frequently about identification theory as a tool for connecting with people in the crisis of poverty. My non-academic version is it's hard for people to hear you if they can't see something of themselves in you. Our eclectic sessions and informal atmosphere provided exactly that for our students, Students saw college staff in new ways. Students experienced sessions that connected with personal interests. And students saw college staff as people who wanted them there with us. The college was making every effort to be "us" rather than be "other." It was a pretty spectacular day, and I can't wait for the February version.


If you try to remember a mentor who made a difference in your life, they probably did lots of things. I've been lucky enough to have several good mentors, but they all had one characteristic in common. For me, they created a sense of safety, which was really another way of saying they made me feel like I belonged where I was. If you accept the poverty informed premise that we must love the students we have (not the ones we wish we had), how would you create the same experience for them? Would you be vulnerable enough to let them know a little bit about you in case they see themselves in your story? Would you fearlessly inventory your policies, practices, behaviors, facilities, and anything else you could identify to make sure there aren't messages of exclusion? This is the work it takes to begin to change our current outcomes and benefit our students, their families, and our communities.

I want to end by acknowledging how difficult this work can be. In recent years, I have given up a lot of the professional distance I used to maintain, and I'm encouraging you to do the same. I should be perfectly clear, we must all still be professional and ethical, but I think we have to be willing to let down our walls a little and let the student stories into our world. Being connected to the "why of the what" allows us to persevere when student journeys are non-linear, and on the days where our emotional investment leaves us in a place of vulnerability. Just this week, I had to deal with the fact a couple of students I had been pretty close to (in my prior life and in my new one) did things which were just not ok. Not only did that hurt me at a personal level, I'm always fearful it will lead to others thinking the work of including these students isn't worth it. That is the emotional risk of choosing to love the students you have and believing in them unconditionally. Sometimes it doesn't work out. I used to worry a lot more about these things, but in recent years, I've channeled my friend Cara Crowley and my answer is "So What." We don't stop doing the right thing because someone else didn't. We don't assign one person's behavior to an entire group (or we certainly shouldn't). This work can be lonely and uncomfortable on those days, and make no mistake there are people out there waiting for those moments of struggle to push you back to where you were. Can you imagine how the students feel in the same scenario? That's why creating a sense of safety and genuine belonging matters every day. That's why we do things alongside our students, and not just on their behalf.

A Theory of Change

I went to Amarillo College in May for the Culture of Caring Poverty Summit. Anyone who has read any of my articles knows this was a huge deal for me, and I was so excited to be in the space of like- minded folks and find ways to gain momentum in my own work. I've read just about every piece of literature I could find on Amarillo over the last two years, and one of the things I admire about their work is the commitment to a clear Theory of Change. While this seems simple, I don't think it is at all. Taking the very complex work of a large institution and boiling down what you are doing to three principles is actually brilliant. Decision making becomes simpler as you have a north star to navigate through the shifting landscapes of your work. My team was challenged to bring a theory of change to the summit, and we struggled with it. I took a stab at what it would look like to me personally, and I ended up with the following: "Removing barriers identified in partnership with students creates a sense of belonging and self-efficacy. When belonging and self-efficacy are paired with just-in-time support at key points, the economic reality of students, their families, and their communities will be changed for the better." Like so much of what I do, it probably had too many words, but it helped me start. I evolved to something else, but I'd love feedback on my theory and how I lead toward achieving it. Let me explain a few influences along the way.

So often, I see something from Dr. Donna Beegle, and it hits me right where I live. She has a knack for making complex things simple and the tweet pictured here is one of those times. I have been in higher education long enough to know that we have a knack for making relatively routine things look impossible. This is the sort of thing my friends at Amarillo refer to as "Higher Ed(ing)" things too much. This is completely true for how we serve students in poverty. We make a lot of assumptions about what they need, when in reality, we could just ask them. Who is more of an expert on what is preventing success than the people being prevented? That's why my original theory of change included the language about identifying barriers in partnership with students. In our quest to be "data-driven" I'm afraid we sometimes lose the basics. Our students can tell us what they need. Sometimes we just want to complicate it, or we don't really like the answer. One of our poverty informed projects I want to execute at MSC Southeast is to have students and faculty identify barriers to success, and we will simply make a list, and we will knock down the ones we can. I am a bit of a broken record, but more and more I'm convinced this stuff isn't complicated, it's just hard. Keeping a Theory of Change simple seems important.

Not everyone loves social media, but I've come to appreciate it in lots of ways. Working in a small city in the Midwest can make you feel isolated and forget you have partners across the country (and the world really). Just last week, I was fortunate to come across an article from my Chair Academy Instructor, Dr. Lane Glenn, the president of Northern Essex Community College in Massachusetts. I haven't seen Dr. Glenn in a couple of years, but I'm connected to him on social media (he's a great LinkedIn follow by the way). The article is linked here, (Lane's article) and it's good, but what struck me most as he looked at inequities in higher ed financing was this quote: "The students who need the least, get the most; and the students who need the most, get the least." In my quest for simplicity, this summed it up perfectly. This is the reality those of us fighting poverty in community and technical colleges face every day. When creating my theory of change, I knew I wanted it to have something to do with leveling the playing field. I wish I had thought of Dr. Glenn's phrase before he did, but I'll use it liberally, with credit of course.

The last inspiration came just a few short days ago. I always read Matt Reed's blog, where he goes by the moniker Dean Dad. He's thoughtful, we have similar jobs, and I just find him thought-provoking. So, this week when he wrote about addressing students' basic needs (Undiscovered talent) as part of an academic master plan, I was thrilled. As a Chief Academic Officer, I'm always concerned about being pigeonholed as only concerned about courses and curriculum. I think that would be incredibly shortsighted. If we want better outcomes for students, we need to address them as humans first (thank you Dr. Sara Goldrick-Rab), which means "academics" better look at a broader picture. If Brookdale Community College can put basic needs as part of their plan, we certainly can too. It's becoming a bit of a cliche in my social media bubble, but if we don't do Maslow stuff before we do Bloom stuff, we know how that story ends. So, I was flattered when they interviewed me for my new role at my new college (read here), and the interviewer said I seemed concerned for the whole student. I can't imagine any other way to do this.

So, back to my Theory of Change. I knew I wanted to be simple and direct. I knew I wanted to talk about leveling the playing field within our power to do so, and I knew I wanted to acknowledge the full humanity of students including their rich, full, complicated lives. I landed on the following: "Success achieved with help is success, so every barrier that can be removed should be removed." Maybe it's a mission statement more than a theory of change, but it speaks to me. It says we know there are barriers preventing students from completing their goals. It says we should have the students help identify the barriers, and then we should work relentlessly to remove them. I like this statement because it acknowledges that help is natural and normal, and honestly the help is built in for so many people, but just isn't for students in poverty. My theory of change is deliberately a little vague because I do not want to pre-determine barriers to success. I want to partner with our students and staff to find them. I also like this statement because it acknowledges our limitations by using the words "can be." Some things are currently out of our scope of influence, but rather than fixate on them and do nothing, I'm challenging myself to remove barriers that can be removed. At least ten people have sent me the great article in The Atlantic that says we can't solve income inequality with better schools (read here), and that is 100% true. Inequality is a larger systemic issue and beyond my control currently. However, better schools can still help people improve their outcomes in this system. Better schools can give hope and social mobility. So we can fight on behalf of people in the crisis of poverty by fearlessly identifying and removing barriers to their success, and that is exactly what I plan to do. Success achieved with help is success, so every barrier that can be removed should be removed.

#MSCSoutheastCares

It is my core belief that our community and technical colleges are key to providing social mobility in our country. All students can benefit, but students from poverty can especially benefit. When I made the move to Minnesota State College Southeast, it was with the intention of spreading the idea of poverty-informed practice to a new place from a new position of influence. In the spirit of being willing to be uncomfortable, it seemed appropriate to try to do this work in a place where I didn't have nearly two decades of experience and relationships to draw from, but rather had to start from day one making the case for the wisdom of better serving people in poverty. I had to hope to find kindred souls, and I certainly have! When I interviewed this summer, you could feel a level of concern and caring for students that was palpable. I'm glad to report the feeling has proven true every day since I arrived. Let me tell you more.

Regular readers know my guiding light for poverty informed work has been Amarillo College in Amarillo, Texas. Amarillo talks regularly about their Culture of Caring and the value of choosing to love the students you have. I could feel that energy immediately at MSC Southeast. There is a deep culture of helping and caring here, and it makes the possibilities of what we can do for our students and communities incredibly exciting. Poverty informed practice starts with caring. Poverty informed practice also requires learning and growing to understand our students' needs and points of view of view, but it absolutely begins with caring. I was asked to speak off campus this week on the value of poverty informed practice in higher education, and one of the audience members approached me afterward and told me that my 90 minute speech boiled down to treating people the right way and not being a jerk (his words not mine). I'm not sure I would say it exactly that way, but the sentiment is correct. So, I want to highlight the things we are doing already at MSC Southeast and the things we will do going into the future. You can find these stories across the web by looking for this hashtag #MSCSoutheastCares. Caring is an amazing place to start and let me tell you a few things I've seen already.

I spent the first day of classes on our Winona campus. The picture is breakfast provided by our Student Senate and there was breakfast in Red Wing as well. Students at Southeast already know the dangers of food insecurity and the fact it can prevent college completion, so they made sure there was breakfast for anyone who wanted it for the first week of classes. There were no rules, no one shows an ID, there is just food for people who need it. That is a culture of help and caring. Of course, hunger is an issue that can extend beyond the first week of classes, so I was so pleased to see the students have established food pantries on each campus as well. The Senate President in Winona told me it is also take what you need, which is amazing and very poverty informed. People who are treated with understanding and respect will tend to treat you with understanding and respect. It's not complicated, it's just hard.

Being poverty informed means understanding the value of relationships (see how this stuff is kind of universal) and demonstrating care for others is a great way to build relationships. I have seen so many acts of caring in my short time on both campuses, but one today stood out in particular. I saw a young mother come in and work on getting admitted and registered for school. Like many students, she needed to bring her children with her, and the children were young also. Watching your mom get set up for school isn't the most engaging thing, so when I walked through our Student Services area, I saw the picture to the left. That's Rita, who is the welcoming face you often see when you enter the Winona campus, and she is making sure all four children are having a positive experience at our college. Not only are they set up with art supplies and a place to color, what you can't see is the Kleenex in Rita's hand as she takes care of the runny nose of our youngest guest. I'm sure that doesn't appear in her job description. We will never know if this small action today gave their mom the time and space to build the future she is dreaming of, but what if it did? What if a culture of helping and caring made that difference? My vision of poverty informed means we remove barriers to student success when we can. What if the barrier was just knowing your children were happy and cared for while you took care of business? I told Rita how impressed I was, and she very humbly told me I had a pretty low bar for being impressed. I would say all the acts of caring I've seen in two weeks might make all the difference for someone without us even knowing it.

So, I could not be more thrilled to have found my new home at Minnesota State College Southeast. We are primed to do amazing things for our students, their families, and our communities. As I have for some time, I want to tell the honest and authentic story of moving toward being a truly poverty-informed college that uses the things we learn from students with the greatest barriers to improve our college for all students. There is work to be done, but a culture of caring is a wonderful place to start. So, you can look for stories about our growth at #MSCSoutheastCares. Let's change the world together!

Get Comfortable Being Uncomfortable

I apologize for not writing in this space for the last two months. It's been a remarkable time. For those of you who have followed these articles over the last year (thank you for that), you know I have not only been describing the evolution of my division (and college), but a personal evolution as well. I don't really have a more accurate way of describing the change than saying I've just decided to accept the reality that for the world to be a little fairer, people like me have to get a little more uncomfortable. For me, it meant leaving a place I was very comfortable, and accepting the challenge of taking my message to a bigger platform. So, tomorrow is my first day as Vice President of Academic Affairs at Minnesota State College Southeast. It's a big change after seventeen years at my prior institution, but it's time to take Toni Morrison's challenge and be uncomfortable enough to embrace an opportunity to do more for those who have been left out. To be clear, this is only stress in the middle-class sense, but I could stay where I was and do the things I was doing and be "successful", or I could challenge my middle-aged comfortable self to do more. I choose B.

The transition has been eased by seeing signs of momentum and future success at my prior institution. Not only did they immediately (and wisely) appoint my partner Mandy to my old job, I was pleased with a few clear wins in my waning days, including a beautiful moment at a final planning retreat I attended to be with my colleagues. Just a year or two earlier, the Academic Dean's Council at my college would have smiled and looked at me when the word poverty came up. But now, I heard them discuss "barriers" and "flexibility", and the power of knowing our students. The ultimate moment was a discussion of a health science student who was about to be disciplined for being late to clinical a second time, but instead the instructor and Associate Dean asked deeper questions and found a homeless student who couldn't miss an appointment to get housing... feels like winning. There was also a discussion about providing free hygiene products in our bathrooms, and when it was questioned because of a perception non-students might use them, there was a resounding chorus of "So What." I also leave knowing the HOPE Center survey will be administered at Western this fall, and knowing I will be back to provide two last days of training around this idea of poverty-informed practice. These ideas that were once discussed as "welfare" or as "too much too soon" are now mainstream topics in the college conversation. I can't wait to see where they take it.

Last week was a great chance to remind myself of what is important, as I strive to broaden our focus on those who have been left out. I took the time to travel to Amarillo and spent two days training with the amazing Dr. Donna Beegle. In addition to becoming a certified Beegle Poverty Coach, I was reminded of why what we are doing is so important. Dr. Beegle reminded me that without significant support and a poverty informed environment, students from generational poverty have an 11% chance of graduating. That is just not ok. She also reminded us newly certified coaches that advocating for people in the crisis of poverty can be very lonely. We live in a unique country where we tend to blame poverty on the poor, and they in turn blame themselves. So, when you try to help people think about it differently, you can be seen as challenging assumptions that are held quite deeply. That can be uncomfortable, but embracing some discomfort seems reasonable in the face of that awful 11% statistic. Between the time with Dr. Beegle and her team, and a visit to Amarillo College, it was hard to not be recharged, and I was reminded once again poverty is an urgent and treatable issue. Ask the folks at Amarillo College, who have tripled their graduation rate in 5 years.

Part of getting comfortable with discomfort is remembering who you are. I shared a podcast earlier this week (listen here) about myself and the topic. Complacency is the enemy, and this is why change is important if you are really trying to make a difference. I remember talking to a fellow teacher when I was new in K-12 twenty years ago, and she told me she was working with the "most unmotivated students she'd had in 30 years"... they were first graders, 6 years old. I immediately called her on it and told her six quick ways I could think of to engage children in their learning. She didn't talk to me the rest of the year. I'm embarrassed to say I "toned it down" after that and tried to fit in better. In hindsight, I was dead right, and I think she was just dead wrong. I'm guessing most readers think so too and can't believe someone would talk that way about children. I hope those readers would also think it is inappropriate to talk that way about college students. But I didn't always live up to that conviction, because it was more comfortable to go along. I hope I stopped doing that about the same time we re-committed to people in the crisis of poverty.

So, I'm getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. You don't have to change jobs, although for me that made sense, but you better avoid getting complacent. How could complacent ever be the answer when that 11% statistic remains? How could you be comfortable when you hear students called dehumanizing things like "Last Minute Larry's" when they come to register shortly before the term starts. How different would the world be if that student had a name and a story? How different would our colleges be if we admired the courage it took to come to us at the last moment and ask us to help change your life? The world is in a difficult and divided place in many ways, and I have been fortunate enough to reach a place of stability and a little bit of influence. So as Ms. Morrison said, it is now my responsibility to empower somebody else. I can't wait for day one tomorrow. I can't wait to find the kindred souls who know that our technical and community college can truly change our community and world. If I'm honest, I've got butterflies, a headache, and I'm sure I won't sleep tonight. It's pretty uncomfortable, so I know I'm right where I should be. Can't wait!

The Power of Purpose

August 1st will mark 17 years for me at Western Technical College. I had no idea I would stay this

long back in 2002, when I thought this was a one year stopover between teaching jobs. It's been good and rewarding work, but I feel like I've accomplished more in the last 12 months than in the prior 16 years. In the last year, I've offered a variety of training on and off campus, and I've had the opportunity to present at conferences across the country on this thing we call poverty-informed practice, and I've watched the discussion at my college shift in the same time frame. Last fall we rolled out a college strategic plan that discussed equity and inclusion, but did not contain the word poverty. In contrast, this fall will feature a keynote address and two days training on poverty-informed practice. The keynote speaker is me by the way, which is unusual. My college typically brings someone in for our all college day. I've also been invited to lead training at one of our sister colleges in October and January in addition to our State System Office giving me an opportunity to present at a large conference in December. In fact my speaking schedule has gotten full enough to have to turn down some opportunities. In this last year, I commonly get asked the same question, and it usually takes on the form of "what's changed?" This week I'll try to explain by going outside my comfort zone a little and talking quite a bit about myself. I've always believed poverty was the problem, but in the last year, I've stopped saying it softly or apologetically. I don't compromise much and being less "reasonable" has accelerated the pace of change here and made connections across the country. It's been a little over a year since I changed my approach to talking about poverty on my campus, and I want to share what has occurred since making that choice. Maybe it will help people be brave and find the power of having purpose.

Last June was an interesting time for me. I had applied for a Vice Presidency at my college (I thought I could help) and had made it to the final round of interviews, an all day affair on a Friday. I spent the two days prior to the marathon interview day in Springfield, Illinois learning from Dr. Donna Beegle, and I'd had a bit of an epiphany while I was there. I was always an advocate for students in poverty, but if I'm honest I didn't go all in, because I was afraid I would lose my influence if people thought we were doing too much too fast. Instead, I was very reasonable and compromising and told myself incremental progress was better than no progress. But I woke up that morning before day 2 of Dr. Beegle's training with this persistent thought "our students with poverty barriers teach us like no other students could." These students make us get better in ways all students benefit from. After literally years of raising awareness that poverty was the obstacle to student success, I now had an affirmative case for removing that obstacle. 36 hours before the biggest interview of my life, I changed my whole presentation and inserted language that said I would lead my college by making it the most poverty-informed college in America. I spent the whole interview day telling anyone who would listen what I believed wasn't just right, it was smart and was good business. Now, I'm a pretty good presenter, and I think I'm a pretty good interview, and I was on fire the whole day, but I didn't get the job. I was pretty sure I was winning until toward the end of the day, one of the key decision makers said, "I'd love to know what poverty-informed is, I don't really understand it." My heart sunk because I knew I hadn't been effective enough yet to make it obvious what that meant for the college.

I received the rejection call early the next week. It hurt a little because I had laid my heart bare, and at the end of the day, my college wasn't ready to go where I wanted to take them. Strangely though, I wasn't that upset. Poverty has been my issue since Day 1, and now I had a way to talk about it that could change things. I've been fortunate through my life to have an ability to change people's minds even on difficult topics. Preparing to make the case had given me clarity of purpose, and purpose is powerful. I sent out my first "Poverty Informed Friday" email that same week and decided to do what I could in my own sphere of influence. My staff was incredible and responsive, and we started identifying barriers to success we could remove as quickly as possible. These included changing policies and physical spaces to work better for students in the crisis of poverty. In July, I was procrastinating on some graduate school work and decided to write a short article on LinkedIn about what we were doing (read it here). I wasn't sure anyone would ever read it, but I liked telling the story, and it helped me coalesce my thoughts about what we were doing. I shared it on my Facebook page, LinkedIn, and eventually on Twitter. Much to my surprise, it started to get shared and has been read thousands of times, all over the country and world. If I'd known that was going to happen, I probably would have edited more carefully, but people seemed to connect to the amateur and authentic nature of what we were doing. None of this happened immediately, but I enjoyed the writing and began to try to do it weekly.

People are drawn to purpose, they just are. First it was my co-workers who were friends on social media and said they were inspired by what we were doing and wanted to participate. My family started to tell me the stories mattered too. My cousin is a 6th grade teacher in Missouri and started to share the articles with her students. And when I shared a story about a student named Emmie (Emmie's story), my cousin said one of her young students was inspired to share with her classmates that her family had experienced homelessness, and what it was like. When I shared the story with Emmie, she said she got goosebumps, and I realized that our little project was also allowing people who had been traditionally left out to have a voice. Our purpose had expanded. We didn't just want to get better outcomes for students in poverty, we wanted their voice to be heard and count. We were becoming partners. Now I started to look for kindred souls in the larger world. I had read about great work happening at Amarillo College (article in the Atlantic), and my newfound courage (purpose makes you brave) allowed me to Tweet my first article at their president, Russell Lowery-Hart just to say thanks for inspiration. I remember when he responded and re-shared the article, because I took screen shots and sent to my partners at work like I was a 47 year old fanboy. And then he shared it with Sara Goldrick-Rab, someone I'd admired for a long time, and she said "we need to get him (me) to Real College." I'm pretty sure I signed up the next day. All of this happened within 2 months of writing that first article and less than 3 months after the failed interview. I hadn't really increased my expertise or even come up with something terribly innovative. I just stopped protecting others comfort when I discussed where we were and what we should do. I'm less fun than I used to be and perhaps less popular, but I know I'm more effective.

Purpose is a powerful thing. In less than 12 months, from a place of limited influence, I have accomplished more than I had in years. Don't let me give you the illusion this stuff is easy, because reality is I meet overt and covert resistance on a daily basis. Even this week, I was challenged on the GED Assistance fund we have made more accessible and poverty-informed (read more here), an issue I thought I had put to bed a long time ago. Since increasing the access to support, the usage has gone up 500% (a good thing), straining our donor resources. This led someone to push back and say we needed to reestablish screening criteria... Very frustrating, but being poverty-informed says we hold our ground and identify more resources rather than ration them. My partner Mandy and I talk endlessly about our right to be comfortable when others do not have the ability to be comfortable. We have never settled on the right answer (agreeing 100% isn't our best thing), but we both generally agree that most of us need to be a little less comfortable, or we run the risk of moving too slowly or not at all. Dr. Beegle uses the phrase "living in the crisis of poverty", and crisis is exactly what we are responding to. When we accept the truth of students being in crisis, it makes us more assertive and willing to put ourselves out there for them. I suspect many of you were like me and advocated in gentle, compromising ways to try to win people over. I'm asking you to rethink that. I'm asking you to make the affirmative case that we don't throw people away. I'm asking you to explore being slightly less comfortable, perhaps less widely popular, but far more effective. If I've learned anything, it's that a watered down version of purpose gets watered down results, and we don't have time for that.

From Gangs to Graduation, Dio's #RealCollege Story

A little more than a month ago, a student asked me how come I had told other students' stories but not his yet. I was thrilled to take him up on his offer. I was grateful for the opportunity to spend some time with a student I've come to know pretty well, and who has a great story to tell. His name is Eldioju, but we all call him Dio. He's a recent graduate of Western and is back this summer pursuing a second degree. On a personal level, he and I have bonded over our shared love of basketball, although he was a much better player than I was. Dio was kind enough to share his experience making the transition from the South Side of Chicago to a college graduate. I thought I knew him pretty well, but I learned a lot that day. It is interesting to see the level of personal accountability he takes and to see the transformative power of education. I could say more, but I'll let Dio tell his story. As always, forgive the amateur video editing by yours truly.

Dio said a lot that stuck with me that day, but I was particularly struck by his  refusal to blame circumstances or "make excuses" as he said several times. It was also great to hear the power of relationships as he pointed to people on campus who made him feel welcome, wanted, and yes, loved. His grit and determination are to be admired, but I would argue they shouldn't be required. It's not an excuse to acknowledge the structural barriers of poverty, it's just a fact. We have to design our college so someone without Dio's remarkable resilience can make it too. So as we become poverty informed, we strive to do just what Dio said at the end of the video. We strive to look at people as individuals and not be afraid of them or of differences. When we remember that people come from a context and poverty is a circumstance, not a character flaw, we start to treat each other differently. And sometimes treating people differently means you get to meet "a nice guy who tries to help people." Our students teach us how to improve every day and I'm glad Dio took time to help me.